For all my insistence that my appearance matters little to me, and for all my vehement rejection of anything "girly", I am sad, just a bit, that I will not be dressing up again like I just did, not for a year at least. (It was so much money, too.)
For a while I was so proud of myself. For a while I felt I had no reason to think I was ugly. For a moment it mattered just enough for it to feel wonderful - the way I looked - and now it's gone, less than gone. It will not matter tomorrow, but I know I will look back on it with rue. The day it didn't matter that I cared, somewhat, about how I looked. The day no one would have laughed at my efforts.
I will not enjoy it quite the same way, not ever again, not until another event like this.
And by then, the faces that surround me will be all but different, the songs all changed, the table no longer 91 and possibly no longer round, no longer ten-seated. I will come to let it go just as easily as I would water I struggle to hold, and I will be as I always was--but I cannot forget that I once took such delight in this, the way I no longer will.
I cannot forget, also, this as the last day I will see some, the friends just close enough for tears, but not close enough for lasting effort. The ones who changed me and shaped me. I saw so many chances today and I let them all fly. But I took the ones I could and needed. The table mates who are dearest to me. The ones I love most truly. I think that is enough, though I might someday look back upon this one, and come to regret that I did no more.
There's no way to preserve it all exactly, not in words - not in anything really but in sensation itself, and full memory of circumstance - thought I'd like to keep this forever.
Today I was happy to be who I was.
